Degradation
by marsh166
Summary: Spyro is lost to the world. Seven years have passed since the events of Stormfront, where Spyro sacrificed himself for the greater good. What can be done when everyone believes him to be dead? Especially when evil still plots for the downfall of the dragon world.
1. Chapter 1

**Here it is. I strongly urge anyone who has not read Stormfront to read that first. You'll be completely lost without it. **

**Chapter 1: Concurrency **

_It is where we start,_

_A hundred miles apart. _

_You had my heart. _

_You tripped and stumbled,_

_And we watched as you crumbled._

_Then you depart. _

_When lives collided,_

_You decried._

_You played your part._

_With your last breath,_

_You waited for death._

_To bring two together,_

_You brought another two apart._

The place where hope goes to die.

A lone dragon flew over the vast crystal fields. Dark storm clouds blotted out any rays of sun, and light drops of rain fell. Here and there, a lance of purple lightning would jolt down from the forsaken heavens, striking somewhere below.

The dragon flew on, shining red scales glimmering in pale blue and purple light. Very few dragons that had laid eyes on the looming black fortress had ever returned. Even fewer came to this place of their own free will. Yet this dragon flew on, undaunted by the massive fortress that had no rival. The distant villages and their inhabitants still whispered its name under their breaths.

Here at Concurrent Skies. Cynder's lair still sat tall and as an oppressive remnant of the past years of fear and malice. Years ago, its walls were patrolled by battalions of apes and their mounts, the feared dreadwings, and its halls guarded by technological monstrosities. Finally, at the fortress's dark peak, the black dragoness herself had brooded: the Terror of the Skies, Cynder. Now her throne room was empty, cast down from her high seat.

A story all too familiar to the young adult dragon that now flew to the dark keep.

The dragon alighted in front of the massive, ridged black gate that stood slightly ajar. He looked over the structure, eyeing all the empty parapets and towers.

He thought back to a time when his favored companion would have cracked a smart joke and asked if anyone was home, but now he was alone, forsaken, not unlike the very castle and parapets before him.

The shimmering dragon took a seat and closed his eyes. His scales lost their flame inspired sheen, and then the red, oranges, and yellows darkened, homogenizing to a singular color, a deep royal purple. A line of fainter purple scales marred his flank, scar tissue from a deep wound long healed. He set his small satchel down a distance from the front gate next to one of the large crystals that grew there.

Padding forward, he passed through the gate and into the mammoth fortress. Inside the vast entry hallway was the same floor pattern as he remembered, and long, black stone spires abutting the walls reached high into the ceiling. The rhomboid crystals embedded in the walls that provided light still functioned, albeit dimmer than he remembered them being. A thick layer of dust coated the floor, and every step left a telltale paw print.

He moved down the hall until the columns parted, and revealed three hallways, one with stairs leading up, one continuing straight ahead to a huge iron double door, and the last led to a descending staircase.

"Work my way up from the bottom, I suppose." He spoke to himself, his voice hauntingly echoing down the empty hall. Then the purple dragon took the descending staircase. The steps were made of the same black marble and wound their way down into the depths. Coming to the first landing he paused, giving the hallway that broke off a swift glance before continuing his descent.

After a few turns a stench began to fill the air, an age old smell of decay and wet rot. He continued down, deeper into the castle until finally he reached the last landing. Instead of an open entryway like the rest it was barred over with iron. An iron rod door provided entry large enough for an adult dragon to fit through easily. The purple dragon pushed the bars, and the door swung open with an obnoxious creaking.

The dungeons. The stench redoubled its efforts to make the purple dragon gag, but he pressed-forward, the faint patter of his heavy paws echoing down the hall.

A row of iron doors on each side lined the hallway, each with a small iron window for the jailers to look in upon their unfortunate captives. The lone dragon passed the cells; a few iron doors were open revealing what lay in store for the captives. The rooms were barely large enough for an adult dragon to remain crouched. Heavy chains connected shackles for the head, legs and tail to the floor and walls, designed for holding the occupant in submission. He could spot the occasional remains, brown stained bones littered and withering within the cells.

After passing several more cells, the golden horned dragon came to an oak door with a small, rectangular barred window near the top. He pressed a paw against the wood and the door creaked open on its rusty hinges, the sound echoing down the cellblock. Inside was a wooden desk with many old faded papers, scrolls, and writing materials. Shelves extended from the floor to the ceiling on three of the walls, each one filled with various dust covered jars, vials, and flasks. Many of the labels were peeling or gone entirely.

Spyro moved to the desk and looked over the notes, giving each one a quick glance. The first was a pair of orders.

"_Prisoner 84 not to be fed for six days."_

The next was harder to make out, several parts having rotted through: "_One part Athelas to two parts Mistress's venom to cure… intoxication of…causes extreme pain. All orders of venom must be requested of the Mistress personally, once information is gleaned from the subject."_

Next was list of prisoners: _"Prisoner 76: Incoherent Wreck, Prisoner 77: Terminated, Prisoner 78: Resisting information gathering efforts." _The list read on for many more that he did not bother to read.

He looked back to the jars and other glassware located around the room. Leaves, liquids, powders; roots were assorted inside.

The purple dragon had seen enough. With a snort of disgust he turned and left the room, closing the door. Then, placing his snout to the bars he let loose a stream of purple flames into the room. The intense heat soon began to melt the bars and char the oak. Black smoke then began to pour from the window. The purple dragon turned and quickly cantered down the hallway, and left the lowest pit of hell to itself.

The next landing above proved uneventful, mostly being storerooms for rations, water, barrels of some ape ale that made his nostrils cringe at the smell and a host of other miscellaneous items.

When he exited the wafts of smoke that had been billowing from below had thinned down to trails of vapors.

He moved up the flight and found another iron door, with recesses in the iron that provided handholds. Opening the door he found that the crystals that provided light here had gone out, leaving complete darkness. Taking a moment, he felt where the currents of electricity would flow most easily within the marble. Pinpointing several of these, he sent a jolt of current to each.

The crystals began to show signs of life, growing from just a faint glow and specks of light. They began to brighten and grow. One of them exploded showering the floor in clear shards, however the rest lit up the room filling the chamber with dazzling light.

Carved from the very rock, benches and long tables ran the length of the chamber and provided seating. Goblets and cracked plates still sat here and there, covered in unappetizing rotten scraps, and platters covered in dust sat with no warm meal. Near the back he could see into the kitchens that fed the horde of apes. Great furnaces stood tall and continued into the ceiling above. Cutlery still hung from racks dangling from the ceiling, and great chopping blocks still had the stains of blood and cleaver marks.

The dragon passed this room over, and continued upward. He returned to the first landing and shoved the oak door open with his paw. Rows of metal bunks stretched out to the black wall. Small wooden chests sat at the foot of each bunk, and brown tattered sheets covered the beds. Having no desire to explore a room where a hundred apes slept he returned to the main corridor above him.

The great dragon now chose the middle corridor, and followed it, the pattering of his paws the only sound. When he reached the door he paused, the scales on the back of his neck beginning to tingle. The silence of the fortress felt deafening. Nothing stirred, yet he couldn't shake the feeling of a hidden, silent malice, long waiting for something to lash out at.

The purple dragon closed his eyes, casting his senses into the next room and exploring with the elements at his command, feeling the stone, the moisture, the temperature of the air. Nothing seemed off, yet his scales still tingled. Closing his eyes he then let the purple light of convexity flow through him and again felt for the hidden threat. He locked in on a particular section of the next room, and standing on his hind legs, purple convexity glowing from his eyes he shoved the iron doors open with great force. They clanked as the gears above turned, and hinges creaked shaking the entire fortress.

Stepping inside, great marble pillars stretched on either side down the hall and into a cathedral like ceiling high above, ornamented with ridges and valleys. A dusty, moldy red carpet led down the center aisle, to a dais made of the same black marble. A pile of brown bones sat before the steps leading up to the black throne for a dragon crowned with spires. The room opened up to a balcony with three arched windows behind the dais, letting in fresher air. Lightning flashed in the dark purple clouds in the distance, and the drizzle of rain that always fell in this land continued.

Spyro's sharp hooked claws clacked on the floor as he stepped further into the room.

A mad shriek echoed through the chamber, and then turned to high pitched cackling laugh. Spyro paused, preparing for the onslaught of whatever evil was to come.

The bones at the foot of the dais began to rattle. Then they began to float, dust falling off and caught up in the whirlwind as the bones flew about. Coming together they began to take shape, legs, torso, arms and finally the skull of an ape perching itself on top. It stood as tall as the purple dragon, only a little shorter than what he remembered of Gaul himself.

With another shriek it charged the purple dragon, bare hands reaching out to grasp and crush the life from him out of jealously for a living being.

The purple dragon stood still, hardly concentrating on the howling ape before him. Passing the first set of pillars the undead ape picked speed and leaped into the air, teeth and bones chattering. It quickly reached the top of its leap and began its descent upon what appeared to a helpless dragon. Howling a mad cackle of glee it reached out for the dragon's neck.

It never had the chance. Great jaws of black marble rose from the floor and slammed closed like a sea predator upon helpless prey. The explosion of sound shook the pillars and fortress to the core. Dust rained from the ceiling, the red carpet sticking out like a hungry tongue hanging loosely from the mouth of the beast. The stone slabs then began to grind over each other back and forth, crushing their hapless victim to dust. The sound of bones cracking quickly dissipated into the sound of something not unlike meal being ground with mortar and pestle.

The purple dragon stood motionlessly as the slabs completed their work and then returned to where they had been in the floor. A pile of dust gathered out of the air and returned to the floor, sitting in a neat pile on top of the musty old carpet.

"And to dust you shall return," he spoke to the silence of the fortress. Passing over the dust he padded silently up the dais and to the balcony behind the throne, looking out over the crystal covered landscape.

_I wonder if she chose it for the view, _he thought to himself before turning to a side passage and proceeding through fortress.

The black passages seemed to press on forever, dimly yet by whatever powered the crystals. The purple dragon seemed to glide down the hallway in complete silence. He paused at the first intersection passages, taking a brief moment to recall the fortress's layout. Swinging to the right, he passed more iron doors, some open, others closed. One or two were off their hinges and lying haphazardly on the ground or leaning against the door frames.

"Should be close," he whispered into the blackness. A scimitar lying in the middle of the hallway seemed to prove him right. A spear sat point down, broken halfway up the pole, its other half lying beside it and sundered forever.

He proceeded further down the hallway. A new double door greeted him, larger than the rest that were in the hallway, but not nearly as large as the throne room doors. A few carved runes above the door were unreadable to him, being the language of the apes. Next to the door was a counter extending from the wall, and a window shuttered with metal. Underneath was a large flap for passing items in and out of the room without opening the main doors.

The purple dragon reared up on his hind legs once more, and placed his paws on the door and began to push.

Somewhere above, a mechanical clank echoed down the hallway, followed by more rapid, less garish clanks. The doors began to open. Upon reaching their zenith, the creaking gears ground to a halt with one last great clank.

Entering, he found a great many weapons. Halberds, pikes, crossbows, long swords, scimitars, daggers, and many other forms of arms hanging from racks or neatly lying on shelves. Bushels of wooden sticks and feathers filled many wicker baskets along the opposite wall. Finally, at the rear of the room more weapons hung, yet these were different. These were not piled together, nor were they crowded. Each one hung on a separate rack, as if each were more precious than gold. Jewels and gems glittered in the hilts of swords and in the stock of the crossbows.

Elemental weapons of fire, ice, earth, and electricity, weapons that gave anyone an equal footing against the dragons. Aside from the fortress itself, these were the most precious tools around.

Spyro sighed in relief. None of the numerous weapons had been taken. The enemy had not turned his thoughts to this place…yet.

Spyro approached the rack of the prized weapons, sweeping them off their abodes with his tail. He arranged them into a pile, the metal chattered and tolled in protest as each arm was heaped, elemental crystals glittering in the dim light.

Opening his maw, he suddenly paused. Looking into the pile something caught his eye. It was a sword handle, far less crude than the others. Reaching down he grabbed the hilt gently with his teeth and pulled it free of the pile. The handle was long, definitely a two-handed weapon, with an elegantly curve in the handle and a crisscross pattern running its length. A red gem was fitted at the base of the blade. The curve continued into the blade, an inlay running the length of the graceful steel. A language that was also foreign to him was scribed into the inlay, but it was not rough and crude like the runes of the apes.

He set the blade down away from the pile, to be spared. Turning back to the other weapons he cracked his maw once more. Letting the inner fire forth, he spewed purple flames over the various arms, only stopping to take breaths of air. The steel began to glow, and the gems that powered the elemental aspects began to pop and shatter with little bursts of colored light and shards of crystal flying every which way.

The metal began to bend, unable to support its own weight. Any other materials had long been burned away. Finally, when nothing was left but a glowing pool of slag Spyro ceased the torrent. Cooling, it quickly turned into a black slag lump, nothing remaining of the weapons.

Turning on his heels, he left the armory still carrying the sword with his jaws. One small preventive step on the road to peace had been accomplished.

**I hope you liked the first chapter! All reviews are welcome. Also, I stated that I would go back and fix the first few chapters of Stormfront... Well an extreme case of chapter fix laziness has come over me and I haven't done it xD **


	2. Chapter 2 Not the Color Purple

**Chapter 2**

**Not the Color Purple**

After wandering the bereft hallways the purple dragon found himself in the upper levels of the dreaded fortress. Further down the hall the roof had collapsed for some unknown reason. A tiny stream of rain water ran down from the ceiling onto the pile of rubble beneath. A small pool of inky black water had formed. Some sort of grating formed a drain preventing the whole area from flooding. Lightning from outside flashed above blindingly after spending hours in the dim fortress.

Spyro proceeded, stepping into the small pool of cold water that didn't even cover a claw. The splashes echoed down the chamber. He began to climb over the rubble, and paused as the water dribbled over his face. His body and his senses went numb to the world. The purple dragon stood there motionless. The cool water running down his face reminded him of a past life. Flying through the waterfalls of Avalar, the green grass and fields of flowers and sweet smells, the lush forests filled with life, Sparx and… Cynder.

He tried to remember the last time he saw her smile, but the memory had long since faded. He remembered when he first awoke on the White Isle, unable to move due to his injuries; spending the next six months recovering enough to where he could stand, another year learning to walk, run and fly again. Unable to leave, forced to watch his former friends from a far, through the means the Chronicler and his friend Ignitus gave to him. His death had brought continued peace. He watched as a treaty was negotiated between Warfang and the colonies, watched as celebrations were had, and watched as everything in life went on for others while he sat rotting away, with no purpose in life, his secrecy paramount to his sanity.

At least he wasn't totally alone… but then again there was only so much one person could provide, especially when the immense duties of the Chronicler took precedent. He remembered turning to the books of the library for whatever solace they could provide. Everything and anything suited him, from long draconic epics to the most dull and dreary history of some begotten time and place. That was when the glimmer of light entered his life, a small bit of magic written down in some forgotten tome. It took him weeks to master it to the point he could do it in his sleep. It took a small amount of power to change his scales color. By infusing the spell with elemental energy of his choosing he could become any unremarkable color of dragon he chose. He had already put the new skill to good use on a number of occasions.

His mind jolted back to the here and now. He kicked a rather large rock over the grate that drained the water. If somebody wanted to use this place, he would make sure it would be a choice they would regret. Lighting flashed and lit the hallway before he turned the corner and left it behind. Passing some shattered remains of glass conduits he entered a familiar room. Hexagonal in shape and in the center was one of the technological ape marvels that lifted one up the tower.

The purple dragon remembered when he had to glide to the middle platform because his small wings couldn't lift his young dragon body. He allowed himself a small bit of satisfaction at just being able to step over the gap. Zapping one of the conduits that remained with a powerful jolt of electricity from his maw started the machinery. Gears deep below him ground once more into action, clanking and whining at their own effort. Black gothic stone passed by him as the elevator rose to the top.

The elevator ground to a halt as the purple dragon appeared at the top of the tower. Only an iron awning above shielded him from the now driving rain. A balcony behind him was large enough for an adult dragon to take flight. However, this was not the same tower that he had climbed so long ago as a young drake. There was an iron door, adorned with a likeness of adult Cynder's head protruding above it. The eyes glowed a sinister yellow. It felt as if those hate filled eyes he had seen so long ago were once again before him, watching him, testing him. Spyro stared into them, half expecting them to come to life in some sort of trap.

But they remain unmoved by his gaze. Undaunted, Spyro moved underneath the bust. The door had two imprints for large but slender dragon's paws. His own were larger than what he assumed Cynder's had been, and didn't fit inside the imprints. The door creaked open silently at his touch, unbidden by any force from him.

Entering, the room was not overly large. It was mostly filled with a dais of bedding located in the center, where the Terror had once retired to her nightmares. To the right were a few large armor chests, most of them open, a few with their lids removed entirely and lying haphazardly about the room. Spyro suspected they were once ornate, but rust and cobwebs had long put an end to any delusion of grandeur. Looking to the opposite side of the room there was a wash basin and over it hung a mirror. All and all a simple abode for the Terror of the Skies, which once wreaked untold amounts of havoc on the dragon realm.

The purple drake turned to leave the room, but something on the bedding caught his eye as he turned, a small stack of books, all of them with black binding. Padding over to the tower of leather, he pinched the first within his claws. He read the title, and then swatted the book away with his paw. It was one he had read back in the Chronicler's library.

I hated that one.

The next few proved equally uninteresting, and joined the first somewhere else in the room. Picking up the last one, he brushed the dust off of the binding with his wing. There was no title or author listed there. Opening it he flipped through a few pages, reading the draconic runes scrawled within. His purple eyes grew wider and wider as he read. He closed the book with a wing tip and grabbed it as gently with his maw as possible.

He exited Cynder's former abode and took flight from balcony across from the elevator.

The purple dragon glided down towards the front gate, over the black parapets and lesser towers. The drake kicked up a small cloud of faint blue dust as he landed, and then rushed over to where he hid his satchel some distance from the front gate behind one of the large crystals. Opening it, he placed the book inside, next to the sword that he had found earlier now wrapped in a cloth he had found on his way out.

It was definitely worth going back in, he thought to himself.

He dug through the bag once more, finding a large vial of deep crimson liquid. Opening it he drank from it, grimacing at the flavor, before replacing the stopper and returning it to the satchel.

He thought for a moment, having the urge to contact Ignitus now and inform him of his discovery, but a stray thought whispered to him not to do so within the fortress's shadow.

He fitted the satchel over one of his powerful shoulders and moved out from the field of crystals. The purple dragon returned to the main gate of the fortress, where he had first entered. Pressing his muscled side against the iron door it droned closed.

He admired the doors momentarily that stood much taller than he was a dragon could fly through them easily when fully opened. There was no decoration inlaid within them, serving as a final statement to any ancestor-forsaken prisoner that hope had died.

Cracking his maw and taking a deep breath he exhaled his internal fire. The purple dragon stepped closer and intensified the flame, turning from a pale yellow to a deep red. The stream of fire that emanated changed from a random splatter upon the gate to a precise point. Moving his head over the center line of the door, it wasn't long before the metal began to glow dimly. Seeing this, he intensified it once more, and drawing on the element only a purple dragon could bring forth naturally he added convexity. The flames turned a bright purple, and the door began to glow white under the intense heat.

A minute or so later the purple dragon stopped his labor and admired his handiwork. The metal still glowing brightly was conjoined, melted together in the intense heat.

It wouldn't keep any creature able to fly out of the fortress, but it would sure make moving supplies and personnel a pain if the front door was inoperable. The drake watched the metal begin to cool before deciding his work was finished.

He checked his satchel ensuring that it was secure, and then took off at a sprint down the road that led to the fortress. Spreading his wings he took flight, and was lost to the rain and clouds.

*.*.*

A boisterous, hearty laugh rang out across the room, followed by several patrons pounding their fists on the table and stamping their paws. The group of rowdy dragons then downed the liquid in the basins in front of them. One large burly fire dragon turned towards the bar.

"Butterburn! More ale!" he cried, followed by a loud hiccup. Several of his compatriots chuckled and also called, "More! Another round!"

A relatively small mole walked behind the bar, past many empty mugs, bowls and plates, all with bits of froth or scraps of food. He picked up a fresh basin from the cupboards and began to fill each from a large oak barrel.

An old homely voice cut through the banter. "Oi, Meakes, that's their last round, no more. If I have to drag their bums out like last week…"

The mole, Meakes, continued to fill the basins as he responded, "Yes, Mr. Butturburn."

"After they're cut off they'll leave… hopefully," he said as he picked up another dirty mug.

He finished filling the last of the basins with the frothy yellow liquid and began to bring them out to the table, passing Mr. Butturburn who was wiping down the counter. The inn owner was a round old earth drake, with a large, somewhat stubby tail, and great ram horns. Bony growths covered his shoulder like most earth dragons, and covered his lower jaw.

Meakes shuffled out from behind the bar, carrying a basin of ale in each hand, the odor of hops filling his nostrils. The little brown furred mole passed the dying embers of the fireplace, past some occupied tables with much quieter residents, before finding the ring of rowdy dragons.

A yellow electric dragon parted from his cushion to give him room to replace the basins, when a fire dragon across the table yelled in slurred speech.

"H'rry up with that ale!" He pounded a paw on the table, shaking it violently.

"Don't get your wings in a knot, Drac. You'll get your own soon enough," Meakes yelled back in his much higher voice, but to no avail. A raunchy joke had the whole table laughing so loud they hadn't even heard him. Picking up the used basins he turned and left quickly, apron flapping frantically, before his outburst had a chance to register.

He had nearly made it to the bar when the entrance bell suddenly rang causing him to nearly drop the basins.

Meakes glimpsed another fire dragon standing at the front bureau. The drake was definitely young, just entering his prime. "We'll be right with you," Meakes called, trying his best to sound polite as he turned he glimpsed a sickening scar on his side.

"I'll get him situated, Meakes." Butterburn said emerging from behind the bar.

The mole returned behind the bar. Mr. Butturburn was at the clerk's book and he couldn't help but hear the conversation as he filled the next set of basins with ale.

Mr. Butterburn opened the large book that sat on the podium and began, "Good evenin' young master. What may I do for you?"

"Just accommodations for the night and a hot meal," the fire drake replied.

"Of course. What name would that be under?" Butterburn replied, picking up a quill.

"Blaze."

"Payment is due in the mornin' Master… Blaze. It's a little past supper, but I'll see what I can scrounge from the kitchen for ya."

Meakes left the bar with his basins filled with the aromatic ale, passing the fire drake as he sat down.

It took him three more trips to get all of the dragons their ale. Returning to the bar he climbed onto a stool and began polishing the mugs and basins that Butterburn had been working on. The newcomer was sitting on the other side of the bar staring blankly.

Mr. Butterburn exited from the kitchen in the back, carrying a large platter in one paw and hobbling along on the other. "I know it isn't much, but this is what we had left. Enjoy. Meakes, get him something to wash it down with."

The fire drake's eyes seemed to light up at the sight of the beef shank that occupied the platter, and he began to consume it quite voraciously. Meakes hopped off his stool and filled yet another basin with ale. He placed it in the front of the fire dragon and returned to his stool while Mr. Butterburn attempted to start a conversation.

"So what are you passing through our little town for?"

The dragon looked up from his meal and began with a sigh, "Honestly… I don't really know."

"A wanderer eh? We get those every once in a while. Haven't found a place to settle down yet, can't find a purpose." The old earth dragon sat on his haunches and looked at the oak ceilings. "In fact I was like that meself once… but that was a long time ago. How long have you been traveling?"

The scarlet drake swallowed a large chunk of beef flesh, then answered, "Five or six years…"

The old earth dragon looked at him quizzically. "That long eh? You must have started young."

A burst of laugher paused their conversation until it abated.

"You… you could say that," Blaze answered and then took a sip of the ale from the basin.

Butterburn let him finish and seemed to examine the dragon on the other side of the table. "Wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that scar, would it?"

The fire drakes voice grew slightly cold. "I'd rather not talk about it."

The earth dragon recovered like a skilled diplomat. "Forgive me for my intrusion young master, I meant no offense. But as a word of advice, home is where the heart is."

"Oi! Can we get another round here?!" an electric dragon shouted across the room.

"Go home. We're closin' for the night," the old earth dragon calmly answered. Luckily most of the customers had left or drifted off to their chambers for the night.

Mr. Butterburn then turned to the mole. "Meakes, show Master Blaze here his room when he has finished eating."

A big burly fire drake pushed past tables and chairs to the bar, nearly falling over when he finally stopped. "Bu'burn, you gave that outsider shome. Why won't you give ush some more?"

The earth dragon stepped out from behind the bar. "I told you last week after your whole gang slept a hangover off in here."

The intoxicated Drac's mouth clearly twisted into a snarl. "We wantshh shome more. You owe ush for guarding the village ever'day."

The earth dragon shook his head. "No, Drac. You're cut off. Go home."

A few of his group shouted encouragements, mostly unintelligible due to their level of inebriation. Drac's eyes drifted over to the kegs of ale across the counter, and he began to climb over the bar.

"Drac, get down from there you buffoon."

Butterburn grabbed him by the tail, only to get kicked by his powerful back legs. The earth dragon doubled over onto a chair meant for moles and crushed it into splinters. Butterburn opened his eyes only to see the room spinning. When he finally gathered himself, Drac was on the floor pinned by another fire dragon: Blaze.

The dragon pushed his forepaw down on Drac's chest, flexing his considerable muscle. "Get lost."

Drac opened his mouth, tongue flopping to the side. He attempted to speak, but only managed to spit slobber over the floor. The inebriated group began to haphazardly make their way across the room, grunting threats and hollering for a fight, shouting, "Get him!" and "You'll pay for that!"

Butterburn's temper exploded at the sight of threatened violence in his precious inn, and he roared, "If ANY of you start a fight in my inn, I'll personally nail your tails to my front door!" He took up a position between the group of advancing dragons and Blaze, snarling furiously at them.

Meakes jumped at the sound of a voice close to him that said, "I think it'd be best if I was taken to my room now." In the commotion and yelling, Blaze had stepped off Drac and approached the mole.

"Uh-h…. Right this way," Meakes said, pointing to a side door. Butterburn was still yelling at the top of his lungs at the group of now cowed dragons.

Meakes led the dragon down the hallway lit by iron sconces. He passed a few rooms with oak doors that could in no way fit a dragon. Turning right, he entered another wing. Here the doors were far larger. Each door would allow five or six moles to pass abreast.

"Here we are," he whispered down the hallway, motioning to the door since he didn't actually have the strength to open it.

"Thanks." The red drake put one massive forepaw against the door and pushed it open, closing it behind him without another word.

Meakes sighed… He could still hear Butterburn yelling from here. The little mole was in for a long night.

**Sorry for the long wait everyone! I ran into an issue where I needed to re-think parts of the story. I came up with a much better ending in the 3rd book and I needed to make sure it worked. So I apologize for the wait. Next, at the end of May I'm going out of the country and will have no access to any technology of any sort until I get back. Africa, specifically Uganda is going to be a big thing. I will try to squeeze out a chapter or two before I leave. **

**I hope you enjoyed it! Reviews and comments appreciated. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Specter of the Past**

Blaze the fire dragon listened against the door, waiting for the footsteps of the little mole to disappear down the hall. When they were gone, he turned and set his satchel down.

The room was small, but cozy. Fresh tinder and logs filled the fireplace, ready to grace the room with a merry fire. A pile of well-used scarlet cushions sat opposite the stone and mortar against like an abnormally large bowl sat in the corner by the fireplace, filled with water. A single curtained window showed for sure the sun had long departed and a solitary candle hung from the ceiling in a glass lantern, giving the room its only light.

Walking past the fireplace, Blaze spat some flames upon the dry kindling, which burst into flame. He took a long draught from the basin to wash down the ale provided to him earlier. Returning to his satchel, he withdrew a vial. This one was filled with clear liquid, rather than the red from before. Taking it over to the basin, he tipped the vial just enough for a single drop to fall into the water.

He waited for a moment, letting the liquid disseminate, and then whispered so as to not be overheard. "Ignitus?"

The pool remained still for several breaths. Then it took on a silvery sheen and he could no longer see the bottom of the basin.

Blaze could hear what sounded like the turning of many pages.

A wizened old voice emanated from the now rippling pool. "Oh ancestors, which one are you this time? I can never remember…"

"Shouldn't the great Chronicler remember these things? Blaze this time," he replied with a snicker as the light blue dragon's face appeared in the silver liquid.

Ignitus smiled broadly. "These bones are old and I have many dragons to keep track of, my young friend. Was your trip productive?"

Blaze reached into his satchel with his long tail and wrapped it around a leather binding.

"I found something. Something big," he said as he presented the black book to the pool. "I think it's hers, although I can't read it. I've never seen this language before. Definitely not draconic; not ape, either."

Blaze opened to a random page with one of his large claws, showing it to the pool.

"I know what it is," the Chronicler responded from behind the book. "Although I can't read it, either."

"Really? I thought reading was all you did," Blaze finished with a coy smile.

Ignitus couldn't help but let out a small grin. "Very funny. When next time you come across the coded language of Malefor's servants, I'll just let you spend the hours deciphering it."

"So that's what it is," Blaze answered, attempting to change the subject.

Ignitus turned his head for a moment and began to read aloud from an invisible book. "The Code of the Captains was the language's official name. Unofficially, it was known as dark speech at the time. The language was used to pass messages from Malefor to his captains of war in the field, or between each other, to direct his armies." Ignitus's head then returned to facing forward.

"You mean before he was sealed?" Blaze asked.

"Indeed. Apparently, Cynder learned it in her service to him. How or when, I do not know…"

Blaze closed the book and returned it to the satchel.

"Where did you find it?" Ignitus asked quizzically.

"It was in her chambers. I think it could be a diary or something."

Ignitus looked away from the pool for a moment. "It was handwritten, so there is a good chance… I'll have to study up on the books here before I can translate any of it." Ignitus returned his full attention to the pool. "Bring it here with haste."

"I'll leave here at dawn, then," Blaze replied, nodding his head.

"Good," Ignitus answered and then tilted his head. "Don't wear yourself out, though… Not in your condition. Was there any trouble?"

The smile disappeared from Blaze's face. "No."

Ignitus took a deep breath. "I would never patronize you, my friend… But be careful."

Blaze stared glaringly at the pool for a moment. "I'll be fine."

"Alright, Spy—" he began, but caught himself. "Good luck, my friend."

The Chronicler's face began to turn away from the pool.

"Wait," Blaze called into the still waters. "How is she?"

"Better than usual, I should say. Safe journey, my friend." Then the Chronicler's head disappeared from the pool. The water lost its silver luster and returned to normal.

The fire had burnt down most of its fuel, leaving only a few flickering flames and dying embers. Walking over to the satchel, Blaze began to dig through until he found the vial filled with red liquid once more.

Unplugging the glass stopper, he whispered to himself, "I'll be fine," and took a long drink of the bitter liquid. He shook his head in disgust as he swallowed. "If taking this stuff doesn't kill me first…"

He returned the vial and walked over to the scarlet cushions, where he curled up and quickly fell asleep.

*.*.*

Blaze entered the inn's common room. The other patrons were still asleep. At this hour, only Meakes and Butterburn were inside.

As he entered, Butterburn hailed him. "Departing early this morn'? I hope you slept well."

Blaze answered back as he made his way to the bar. "Yes, I'm afraid I must, but it was very comfortable. Thank you."

"My pleasure, sir." The old earth dragon bowed. "Would you like any breakfast this morn' before you depart?"

"No, thank you," Blaze answered simply.

The old innkeeper frowned. "Very well, then. If you'll just head over to the podium, I'll be with you to check you out."

Blaze walked over to the podium and dug into his satchel, grabbing from a cache of gems he kept.

"Listen…" Butterburn began. "I want to thank you for last night. It might have gotten ugly if it weren't for you."

"Don't mention it," Blaze said as he continued to look through his bag.

Butterburn dipped a claw in a well of ink resting on the podium. "Don't think too badly of those dragons, either…" he began as he opened a large ledger and scribbled a few marks in it with his claw. "They guarded our village well during the dark times… Now, with the peace and all, they have nothing better to do. Sort of lost their purpose."

Blaze placed a rather large yellow gem on the counter. "That should cover it."

"Urr… Let me go see if I got anythin' smaller in the back to give you for change." Butterburn began to turn, but was stopped by the fire drake.

"Don't worry about it. Good day," Blaze said and turned to leave.

Before he could get to the door, it was flung open, cracking loudly as it hit the wall. Several dragons entered the room, fanning out to block the entrance. In the center stood Drac, his eyes glaring at Blaze only a few feet away.

"Just who we were looking for," he said with a snicker. "Get outside. I believe I owe you for last night."

"Drac!" Butterburn's voice began to rise, but was cut off by an even louder Drac.

"I swear to the ancestors, Butterburn, I'll burn your inn down if you don't shut up!"

The old owner lost all temperament in his voice, like a silenced child.

Blaze sighed. "And I was hoping to get an early start this morning…"

"A tough dragon, eh?" Drac laughed to his friends. "Get out here and show us, whelpling."

The group exited the building and began to jeer. Drac stood in the middle, cracking his paw's knuckles.

Butterburn whispered to Blaze, "I can distract them for you to run if—" but was interrupted once more.

"I can handle him. I've handled _a lot_ worse," Blaze said, looking over his shoulder. He set his satchel down by the door, then exited the inn.

Butterburn and Meakes rushed to the door and stopped, watching from the safety of the inn.

The two fire dragons stood surrounded by Drac's gang of town guard. Drac was a bit larger than Blaze, standing a full head taller and another wider. Blaze didn't seem the least bit perturbed, sitting calmly across the circle from him.

"You ready for a beat down?" Drac called.

Blaze still was sitting calmly. "I'm still waiting for you to stop talking so we can get this over with."

"Why you ass—"

"Still talking…"

With a scream of pain. Drac screamed before unleashing a torrent of flame at his opposition. Two of the gang behind Blaze screamed and jumped away from the incoming inferno.

Blaze was engulfed by the fire. Drac smiled as he watched the flames dissipate. "That'll teach the little sh—"

"That couldn't have lit a candle and you're still talking more than fighting." A voice emanated from the flames before they dissipated and disappeared. Blaze sat in the center of a charred patch of grass.

Drac let loose another torrent of flame that showed no signs of abating. His gang shouted in victory, but their shouts quickly turned to those of dismay. Through the torrent of flames, a red paw burst forth and grabbed Drac by the neck. The claws clamped hard upon Drac's neck, forcing him to cease the torrent of fire as he raised his neck in the air in an attempt to break free of the hold.

Blaze came into full view of everyone as the fire disappeared, right paw firmly gripped at the base of Drac's skull. Reaching skyward with his other paw, he gripped Drac's left paw and simultaneously unfurled his wings. With a great push of his wings and a twist, he flipped Drac over onto his back. The ground shook as the large dragon impacted the charred grass. Several of Drac's friends backed away from the flailing dragon.

Drac opened his eyes and gasped for breath as he felt the paw around his neck loosen. Then he felt the sharp edge of a talon against his throat and he stopped all movement.

Blaze bent down and whispered to the pinned dragon, "I don't think you owe me anything now."

Standing over Drac, he spoke to the rest of the crowd. "And maybe you should be doing your jobs, not drinking."

A few of them nodded, others just stood there, still confused at what was happening. Blaze let go of Drac's neck and turned back towards the inn. Drac's cronies parted, giving him a wide berth. The victorious dragon picked up his satchel that sat next to Butterburn and Meakes, who could only stare at him.

He cantered past the group, past the wooden houses and shops of the village, and took flight, leaving it all behind.

*.*.*

Green grass and trees rustled in the breeze, and water sprayed from the fast-flowing river. Purple, yellow, scarlet, pink, white and many other hues of wild flowers were in full bloom all the way to the river's banks. The sun was at its noon high, filling the valley with warm light. Birds fluttered to and fro and sang their songs. In the distance, a small column of smoke next to the river revealed below it the only settlement nestled within the valley. However, a cloud bank approaching from the west threatened to bring a downpour.

Standing on a cliff, a cheetah observed the plains of Avalar below him. His cloaked flapped gently in the breeze. Spotting his quarry, a herd of deer galloping into the forest across the river, he jumped the cliff's height in one bound and leapt down to the river bank. Without stopping, the feline leaped the great river just as the herd of deer passed out of sight into the thick forest.

Drawing his bow as he landed, he rushed hard for the forest's border. Entering the dark eaves, he stopped, listening and feeling for his quarry. He advanced slowly now from tree to tree, peeking around their rough bark. As he pressed on, he found tracks, tough hooves pressed into the moist dirt. The hunting cat followed them, still advancing tree to tree through the undergrowth and thick smell of old leaves.

Movement ahead at around head-level made him slow his advance. He stifled his own hot breath as he moved up to the next tree. Glancing around it, he saw nothing but the endless shrubs and twigs of the forest all around him. Frowning to himself, he pressed onward. The leaves did not crunch under his furred paws as he glided forward to the next tree.

A distant rumble of thunder was carried by a breeze out of the west, stirring up the trees and making them shiver in the wind.

Pressing his back against the bark of the tree, he looked around once more. There, in the corner of his eye, he spotted an adult doe. He slid his back down the side of the tree, down into a crouch. Putting his bow once more on his back, he crept around the side of the tree on all fours. The hairs on his body felt the slightest twitch of wind. Pressing to the right, he crept into a bush upwind of his prey. There, he could see the entire herd. Another doe and two bucks sat just out of shot ahead of him.

Every step was carefully planned, slow and methodical, like that of Death. It took minutes for each paw to move, and not a leaf was disturbed at his passing. Taking cover behind the last bush between himself and the hapless deer, he slowly drew his bow from his back, along with a red-feathered arrow. The steely point reflected the dim sunlight as he carefully notched it to the bow. Drawing the bowstring silently, he mentally prepared himself for his shot, relaxing his breathing and lowering his heart rate.

A tree limb snapped, followed by a huge crash of breaking timber.

Hunter leapt up to take a shot at a terrified fleeing buck, but the sound of crashing branches threw off his aim, as if a whole tree was being uprooted. A giant scarlet blur hurtled through the canopy and crushed the deer under its form.

Hunter placed his bow once more upon his back and called to the dragon, who was placing the deer within his talons.

"Guess I'll just have to look for another one," Hunter said snidely.

The dragon gazed upon the cheetah and froze, taken completely by surprise.

Hunter gazed upon the dragon, who was clearly agitated. His paws were restless and he kept looking at the sky.

Hunter tried to ease his tension. "It was a good kill, though; you must have had a lot of practice at that technique."

"Yeah, been using that one for a while now." The dragon seemed to calm down a bit.

A crack of thunder signaled the approach of the storm, followed by a steady drizzle.

Hunter pulled the cowl of his cloak over his head. "Do you have shelter nearby? Storms like this can get nasty and the river has been known to flood."

The dragon sighed. "Alright, the cave is just down the river. I'll meet you there." With one flap, he took off and shoved his way through the canopy of leaves, the deer still in his clutches.

Hunter leapt up onto a branch halfway up a tree and bounded to the next branch. He could just make out the dragon flying above the canopy of leaves as he followed along the lower-hanging branches.

Front-flipping off the last branch above a grassy meadow, he kept within sight of the flying dragon. A herd of deer fled before them, and Hunter made sure to remember which direction they had gone. Ahead, he could see a gray wall of much more ferocious rain approaching.

The dragon dove into a ravine just as he reached that wall of water. The rain slapped Hunter's face and soaked through his cloak and fur in seconds. Following the dragon, the fast winds did not prevent the agile cheetah from jumping back and forth until he reached a calmer alcove in the rock. High in the side of the alcove, a cave was nestled in the rock. From the smoke billowing out from the roof, he could tell the dragon had wasted no time in starting a fire.

The cheetah bent down and used his powerful legs to spring to the cave's ledge, landing perfectly.

It was quite large, room enough for a couple more adult dragons of the other's size. It was also very smooth, almost the point of not looking natural. In its center a fire burned and the deer was roasting above it, already skinned and gutted.

Finding a spot out of the smoke, Hunter placed his bow and quiver down beside him and sat, cloak drawn close over his body.

Lightning crashed overhead as the storm barreled in. The wind picked up substantially and the drizzle that had accompanied him now became a true downpour.

The cheetah closed his eyes and let his mind wander; thinking of the past, old friends, and the war that felt like it was so long ago. The wounds that it had caused would never truly heal, but if one walked about the land as often as Hunter did, they would be amazed at the recovery. Trade between Warfang and the Colonies had recently opened. A special enclave had been opened inside Warfang for colonial diplomats' families, staff and whatever else they decided to bring with them. Money was flowing, and dragons were buying and travelling. The cheetah village had become somewhat of a tourist hotspot, despite Prowlus's misgivings. It was even reported that the Burned Lands had begun to shrink.

The rich smell and sound of sizzling meat was placed under his nose. Opening his eyes, he saw the dragon had offered him a portion of skewered meat.

"Thank you," he said as he accepted the gift of food. "I never caught your name, friend." The cheetah bit into the cooked deer.

"Blaze," he answered before taking his own piece.

Hunter wasn't particularly one for small talk and it didn't seem like his new friend was, either.

"I'll be on my way once the storm passes," Hunter announced before taking another bite.

The dragon was consuming his meal voraciously and only stopped momentarily to nod. Hunter finished his and rolled over to stare outside at the flashes of lightning.

The patter of rain continued to grow louder and sheets of water began to blow across the valley. The pleasant sound of rain caused the cheetah to close his eyes and listen.

He heard Blaze go to the rear of the cave and curl up. A few minutes of rain and thunder later, he heard light snoring.

Soon, the cheetah followed suit.

*.*.*

Hunter opened his eyes, staring out at the blackness of night. The storm had abated. The only light came from the very dim embers of the cooking fire.

The cheetah stood up and grabbed his bow and quiver, slinging them once more over his shoulder where they belonged. He decided to wait to ensure that his eyes had adjusted to the night.

However, the steady snoring of Blaze had changed. It had picked up rapidly, like he was in an adrenaline-filled fight. The cheetah dismissed it. Pulling his cloak over his head, he stood at the exit to the cave.

Just as he was just about to jump down, he heard more sounds coming from the dragon behind him. He had begun to whimper in his sleep, sharp and sudden, like he was in pain.

Hunter turned to see him stir, his big purple eyes opening and shaking.

"No…" Blaze said, panicked.

He lifted a shaking paw and pointed towards the satchel lying against the wall of the cave.

"Get the red vile in the—" The dragon's face contorted and grimaced. Every muscle in his body contracted and rippled. His paws clenched and his legs shook.

Hunter stood there, unsure of what was happening. Blaze attempted to point at the satchel again, only to scream in pain. Hunter rushed over to the satchel and began to dig through it, ignoring anything that wasn't glass or red.

The dragon's screams became bloodcurdling and echoed all around the cave. Hunter risked a quick glance to him thrashing and seizing. Adrenaline running, the cheetah dumped the entirety of the bag out on the cave's floor. Seeing the red vile now rolling across the rock, he grabbed it.

Standing up and running over, he removed the stopper and looked up at the dragon. His body and mind froze at the sight of the thrashing dragon, for his scales were now a royal purple.

**Feels good to have posted again. Once more sorry for the long wait. I had an amazing time in Africa. I saw so much and learned a lot, with plenty of fun too. **

**Hope you liked the chapter. As always reviews are welcome. Thanks to Riverstyxx for guest betaing while DragonMaster000 was on vacation.**


	4. Chapter 4 An Offer

**Chapter 4**

**An Offer**

The wind fell silent and the whole valley, normally buzzing with life, became still. The sound of the deepest pain put fear into the creatures of the night and they fled in terror, thinking the pain would become their own.

Hunter had to place his palms over his ears to relieve them. He fell to his knees before the dragon and opened his now watering eyes. The writhing purple dragon in front of him smashed parts of the rock with his huge tail. His spines scraped and scratched the solid rock as his great strength became a savage tool of destruction. A thin foam of white spilled forth from his jaw, which eventually turned red as it mixed with blood.

Suddenly, the tail was swinging laterally towards Hunter's head. Only a reflexive dodge saved him from becoming like a bug squashed under a boot.

Hunter crawled along the stone floor away from the crazed dragon. Reaching his bow and pack he slung them over his shoulder and darted from the cave, his heart pounding. Reaching the ground he began to run, as fast as his feet could carry him. The screams still permeated the air behind him as he rushed past the creek he entered the forest.

The thoughts began to race in his head.

_Another purple dragon, alive, here in the valley!_

I can get to the Guardians tonight.

The shrieks began to fade as he made his way through the undergrowth.

_They sound so much like… comrades._

Memories of the war flooded him. Cheetahs and dragons alike, with limbs bleeding and missing, begging for a medic or their mother.

His pace slowed.

He recalled cheetahs with their whole bodies charred to black, dragons with their bodies covered in arrows, or their heads bashed in by a cruel blow. All of them too young to have had a family, or to grow old and watch the next generation take their place. Gallantry against a ruthless enemy could only carry one so far. The ones that survived were never the same, shells of their former selves. Family could not console them. At best they could try to solve their problems with drink, or at worst by ending their own misery.

His body seemed to stop moving of its own accord, as if pulled by strings. He stood there in the forest, only the faintest echoes reached him of the horror that lay behind him. It took him a while to realize that he himself had stopped, and for what reason. He felt an unfamiliar weight in his furred hands, the glass vile, filled with the unknown red liquid.

Then the terror stopped altogether, and he was greeted by the deafening silence. The wildlife seemed to take its cue and gradually came back to life.

Hunter spun on his heels, and began to run back to the cave, for better or for worse.

Soon enough he had returned to the gorge, and then climbed to the lip of the cave. Jumping up to the ledge, Hunter saw the purple dragon, unmoving, and could hear his labored, hoarse breathing echoing down the length of the tunnel. Reaching the stricken dragon, he could see blood dripping down the side of his face, which had come to rest awkwardly on the rocky floor. The dragon was clearly unconscious, probably having passed out from the sheer pain. Odd tremors and seizures occasionally rippled across his purple scales.

It took all of Hunter's considerable strength to lift the muzzle of the dragon's head. Unstopping the vile, he simply dropped the stopper to the floor. Lifting the dragon's lips with one hand while cradling his head proved difficult, however Hunter managed to shove the spout of the bottle up against his teeth and tipped. He let a large amount of the red liquid into the dragon's mouth, but not quite all of it. Hunter set the vile down with one hand, tipped the dragon's snout as high as he could into the air and shut his mouth, covering his nostrils.

The relieving sound of a deep gurgling swallow filled the cave. The cheetah quickly set the heavy head of the dragon down and gladly sat back on his rear, exhausted and panting from the weight. Reaching behind his quiver, he grabbed a water skin he always kept on him and took a large refreshing drought.

A large ripple ran through the dragon as his muscles jolted. Hunter, startled that the dragon was awaking so quickly, began to stand reaching for his bow.

The dragon's eyes opened clumsily. Upon sighting the cheetah the royal purple eyes narrowed on him. Hunter could see every stroke, and every subtle change of color, and all at once they seemed very familiar.

Hunter only began to grasp his bow as the huge dragon lunged at him and caught his entire body between his claws. The force of the blow knocked the wind out of him and was soon followed by a crushing blow to his back when he was slammed into the wall. It took a moment for the stunned cheetah to regain his senses from the below. Lifting his head from his chest he looked upon the face of the purple dragon before him. He struggled for just a moment, before the scaly paw pushed him even harder onto the wall, claws digging into the solid rock.

The purple dragon spoke, somewhat arrogantly, "Well, well Hunter, I can't have you run off and tell all of Warfang I'm alive now can I?"

"Spyro…" the cheetah wheezed out, barely able to draw breath under his great strength.

"It's been a long time _old friend_." The paw eased up the tiniest amount, allowing Hunter to draw in breath.

"B-but we watched… the volcano," Hunter spoke between gasps for air.

The purple dragon snorted haughtily, hot breath washing over Hunter's face. "Fate… has a funny way of keeping me around."

Hunter sat motionlessly inside Spyro's grip, a thousand questions racing through his head. However he had the feeling that he wouldn't be around to ask any of them. Hunter took a moment to resign himself to death at the paws of the purple dragon. There was no hope for escape, and a small part of him wondered how long it would take to find his body, if there was anything left.

The steely grip that held his body loosened entirely, and Hunter slid along the wall onto his rump.

"Before you bolt off running towards Warfang to tell them to mount a new crusade, I think I have the right to tell my side of the story."

The urge to get up and run nearly overpowered the cheetah's mind. Yet a mixture of curiosity and his muscles still aching made him decide against it.

The purple dragon walked towards the front of the cave and watched as the morning sun began to crest over the horizon. "But first you're coming with me to the White Isle. You'll be the first non-dragon on the island I suspect. Consider it an honor."

Hunter slowly came to a stand, reached for his bow very slowly and placed it on his back where it belonged. "And if I should choose not to?"

Spyro's huge frame swiveled to face him. "The secret that I am alive is more important to me than many things. I would hope you would have the wisdom to not test it."

Hunter stood in an awkward silence, unsure of what to do.

Spyro unfurled his wings and made for the front of the cave, his scales turning to their former shade of holographic crimson. "We'll leave immediately then, and you better start working on a good story to excuse yourself for a few months."

*.*.*

The Chief of the Cheetahs left his wooden and thatch house, moving the curtain out of the way with whip of his hand. The bright morning sunshine warmed his skin and shone brightly on the hamlet, much like every other day. The cheetahs were busy with their daily tasks carrying firewood, training, merchants bringing in their goods, and little ones playing in the bright happiness of youth.

Prowlus stepped down the stairs of his home, scarlet satin cloak billowing in the summer breeze.

"Good morning sir!" he heard called. He replied in kind and pressed forth to the first task of his daily routine: a tour around the whole village. First he would pass the homes of the more prestigious cheetahs: elders of his small community, diplomats, and the occasional wealthy trader. When he did, most of them sat upon their porches watching the youth and reminiscing about the old days or greeting him. Next, the barracks, where the small in number but ever courageous cheetah warriors lived, trained, and found the bonds of comradeship together. The sergeants saluted as he passed, their mail glistening in the sun, spears sharp, and bows waxed. Next to the barracks were the training grounds, where one particular cheetah was yelling and the others who were attempting to not appear afraid. A few words he hoped the children weren't hearing later, Prowlus had passed them, taking mental note that there seemed to be far fewer trainees than there should be, but of course, he had done the same thing yesterday.

_Who needs warriors with merchants and labor in such high demand?_

Back in the days of the purple dragons he would have come to the palisade next, its ring of timber having protected them from so many foes. However, several years ago, it was demolished to make room for expansion of the village. A new one was never bothered to be made again. The secret passage that led to Warfang, far from being secret, now lay open all hours, and almost ceaselessly travelers walked to and fro. Beneath him, thirty to forty more huts sprawled out along the river. Cheetahs fished, some on boats, others farmed, and others sold goods to buy from the fishermen and farmers. In the distant meadows shepherds' flocks were grazing on the green grass, or drinking the clean cool waters of the river Duma.

Here and there the large scaled bodies of dragons could be seen, doing much the same as the Cheetahs around them. After the war and the traitor's insurrection a garrison of Warfang was established, with his own invitation of course. Within a few years, the dragons brought their families, and soon they become a common sight. As long as they registered and paid their taxes Prowlus didn't have much of a care any longer for the large lizards living among them.

Scanning the sprawling village he noticed a dragon he had not seen before walking towards him, very large, with bright red scales. Prowlus gave the dragon a more careful scan. He could tell that he was young, but he walked proud and tall, like that of someone far beyond the dragon's true years, like a great general, or a leader of many peoples.

Of course this could be foolish young pride, the cheetah thought to himself, but… He shoved the thought from his mind. The only memories filling it now were the many times Hunter had been walking with dragons toward him before. Either he was about to receive bad news or Hunter was going to disappear for who knew how long. The chief of cheetahs spent a moment mulling over which outcome could be worse, before he realized it was pointless and went to greet the two, simultaneously trying to prevent a scowl from developing.

"Hail Chief of Cheetahs," Hunter called with a respectful salute.

"Alright Hunter, what is it that you want?" Prowlus answered, unable to keep the scowl from showing.

"I didn't even get to ask yet," Hunter responded jokingly.

"I know you too well my old friend. You'd never address me like that unless you were trying to put me in a good mood."

Hunter laughed unenthusiastically. "I'll get straight to the point then, Prowlus. The Guardians have asked me to temporarily fill an appointment on an ambassador's team to one of the Colonies. I will also introduce the race of Cheetahs to them."

Prowlus rubbed one of his temples. "How long…"

"A few months at least. It'll take a month just to get there-"

"Alright, alright…" Prowlus sighed irritably. "I suppose… since there seems to be no more pressing issues left in this world… You can go."

The dragon behind spoke for the first time. "The Guardians thank you for your support, Chief of Cheetahs," he said, finishing with a slight bow.

"However!" the chief answered him tersely, "Make it clear to the Guardians that I do not take lightly to my second command gallivanting off half a world away. Now, give us a good showing for your fellow Cheetahs, Ambassador Hunter. Is that all?"

"Yes sir. I leave immediately."

"Good luck then, my friend. With my graces you may depart."

Hunter saluted, turned turned and left the Chief of Cheetahs to his thoughts.

_That dragon…_

*.*.*

A singular voice echoed through the white marble auditorium. "In the end my friends, the shops of Warfang are busy, homes that have been empty for years are filling up rapidly, and finally student application records to the Academy are being broken monthly."

A small bout of clapping and stamping of dragon feet filled the room and then faded.

The giant earth dragon began again in his gruff voice, "This is indeed a bright moment for our proud city, and this concludes our monthly meeting."

Terrador stepped down from the pedestal to the sound of more applause from his fellow guardians Volteer, Cyril and Flame, and other notable functionaries. The entirety of the Council was in attendance, including the newly elected members.

The dignitaries, both dragon and mole, began to leave and mingle about the room, some discussing important matters, others simply chatting. A certain black dragoness weaved her way through the crowd.

Many of them offered her congratulations. She had of coursed attended these meetings before, but in no sort of actual function other than fulfilling the Guardians request for her to be there. However, this was her first meeting with a real purpose.

"Councilor Cynder!" she heard and felt a tap to her shoulder.

Cynder was unable to hide her agitation, and she whirled about on her unfortunate secretary. "What is it, Winter?"

The near-white dragoness equal her size was completely unfazed, and only flipped open a scroll she was carrying in her mouth. The dragoness was the palest shade of blue Cynder could imagine, and it fit her name quiet well, she thought to herself.

"You have an appointment at noon with local merchants' guild, and then-"

"Walk with me," Cynder interrupted her and pressed forward towards the stairs to get out the mess that was their place of parliament.

Winter kept an even pace with the legendary black dragoness. "The workers union for our section has called for your mediation. Next, there is an opening ceremony for a branch wing of the-"

Cynder interrupted her. "Push everything back until this afternoon. I'm busy."

"But—"

They reached the stairs, and Cynder took the upward leading branch.

Winter realized the futility of protesting and rewrapped the scroll she was carrying with a flip of her head. "I see, Councilor Cynder. I will rearrange the schedule."

"And I thought I told you not to call me that. Cynder alone is fine."

"Yes, Lady Cynder, forgive me." She bowed her head and made her way back to the milling crowd.

Cynder climbed the flight of stairs, the noise of the chamber below her decreasing with each step. After passing countless statues of dragons whose time had long passed, Cynder reached the roof. Here it opened up to a large balcony with small sapling at each corner. A few sweet smelling plants sat potted and well-tended along the rail. Beneath and stretching out before it was the great dragon city of Warfang.

She looked out upon the city with her emerald eyes, watching the hustle and bustle of its many inhabitants, flying or walking in the mid-morning sun. Here she sat for a few minutes deep in thought, thinking about the work she dreaded doing this afternoon, but her mind occasionally drifted to the past.

The sound of footsteps and a familiar female voice ended her solitude. "So you come here too?"

The black dragoness recognized the voice instantly and didn't need to turn around. "Good morning, Flare. Helps to take my mind off of work."

"I hide up here whenever Flame has one of his boring ceremonies, or whenever some idiot asks him to do a speech."

Cynder stuck out her tongue in mock disgust, having had to sit through many of them herself. "He could use a little work on those…"

"The poor bastard who has to help him with that…" Flare laughed. "How does it feel to be a politician?"

"Disgusting." Cynder burst into a fit of rare laughter along with Flare.

"Kinda amazing that you got elected without campaigning," Flare said after both of them had finished.

Cynder tore her gaze from the city to answer Flare. "I suppose, but I never wanted this job."

The latter felt a twinge of sadness for the great dragoness. "At least it will occupy your mind."

"True." And Cynder sat in silence staring out at the city once more.

Flare decided that Cynder wanted to be alone, which was a very common thing for her, and made a motion to leave.

"I suppose I should get going. Flame will be looking for me. Good day Cynder."

"Wait!" she called. "How is, uh, she doing?"

"She's doing fine. Hard to keep up with sometimes though. You should stop by sometime. She misses seeing you."

Cynder smiled happily to Flare. "I will sometime soon. Tell her I promise."

"I'll tell her to look forward to it." Flare made her way to the staircase that would lead off the balcony. "You know Cynder, you should try to meet someone new that isn't tiny and adorable as well."

Cynder felt slightly incensed at the comment. "What do you mean?" she asked, but got no answer. Flare had already disappeared down the staircase. Cynder huffed her frustrations out into air. She tried to pretend to herself she didn't know what Flare had meant.

But in truth… she knew exactly what Flare had been insinuating. The thought didn't please her much. She knew the results already. The black dragoness had indeed tried to meet new dragons a few years ago, all attempts ending in dismal failures on the dragons' parts, or at least she felt it was their fault. She had given up on that a long time ago. No one would have affections for her like he did…

Cynder grated her talons on the ground for letting herself think about him again. Her maroon wings spread wide in an instant and she leapt from the balcony, angry at herself for thinking about him… again. She promised and promised herself that she would forget him, leave him in the dead past where he belonged, yet… she kept breaking those promises.

She was now high in the sky above the city, having flown furiously in anger at herself. Finally realizing what she had done she slowly glided downwards, letting a dull ache fill her head. At least it blotted out the thoughts of him.

After floating lazily for several more minutes she spotted a relatively empty city street. Her graceful form touched down effortlessly on the white marble cobble that made up most, if not all of Warfang's streets. The street was lined with smaller dwellings that were built within the city. Most of them had only one floor, and rarely one would be abandoned, the door off its hinges or completely gone, windows deprived of curtain, and its stone unpolished and sullied with filth. Here and there the occasional dragon or mole went about their business, looking at only the ground in front of themselves.

Up the street she saw a relatively unusual building for this part of town. It was much larger, and looked much like a courthouse. A few whelplings sat scrubbing the steps and marble they could reach with brushes in their mouths, hence making it the cleanest looking building on the entire street. An older teenage dragon sat at the top of the steps watching over all the young ones.

Approaching from the other side of the narrow street, Cynder read the draconian runes scrawled above the pillars. The first part had been crudely erased by some form of friction and was illegible. The second word had at one point clearly said "courthouse", however rough handiwork with a chisel had converted it to the word "orphanage". A few letters were squeezed between others, some erased entirely much like the previous word had been, and others converted into the proper rune.

Drawn by her curiosity, she crossed the street and approached the steps that led inside the massive building. This caught the attention of the older dragon who was watching over the group of whelplings. Leaving his charges, he excitedly ran through the two large oak doors that led inside.

Cynder watched the multiple whelplings obediently scrubbing the building, several of each element. Some were laughing and talking others, some sang to their work, and one or two would be quiet and focused on their task.

The older dragon reemerged tailed by an adult dragoness, an aged earth dragon. Her horns had faded from what Cynder would have guessed was brown to a dull tan. Her tail seemed to follow her halfheartedly, and her wings drooped at her side.

Her eyes, which were fading to white from cataracts, fixed upon Cynder. "Hello Councilor Cynder. Welcome to our home," she said, finishing with a bow.

"Uh… Hello…" said Cynder, unprepared for the honors.

The older dragoness was unperturbed by Cynder's surprise. "My name is Resa." Turning away from her, she called out to the rest of the house in a loud voice Cynder didn't think was possible for her. "Come, children. We have a very special guest with us today."

All of the whelplings and many older younglings gathered around the two dragonesses playfully, laughing, chasing, and yelling. Cynder couldn't help but smile at all the little ones around her. Resa was forced to yell over the many young ones in her raspy voice.

"Let us begin our tour."

**Thank you to DragonMaster000 for his continued betaing. Without him this would not be possible.**

**Sorry for the long wait as well. My old laptop began to run into issues with the hard-drive, and I had to wait upon the new one to come before I could start writing again. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please review.  
**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**Wrong Side of Heaven**

Spyro's purple eyes twitched open. In his belly he felt something moving, no, clawing at his insides. He looked around, fearing another attack, but his eyes could not discern anything. His entire view was filled with murky blackness, like smoke. Little wisps were scattered here and there, along with spots of varied colors that sent him into a daze.

The clawing inside him returned his attention to his stomach. The pain wasn't coming from his chest like normal. It felt very different, almost as if he were on the brink of total starvation.

His stomach growled violently as if to confirm his thoughts. Trying to stand from his resting position he tripped clumsily forward. Crying out in pain he landed with a puff of smoke like dust from the nonexistent floor.

Looking at his paws and legs he saw that his normally strong and toned body had shriveled like a dried up fruit. His scales, dull and lifeless, hung loosely from his skin. Looking farther he could count each individual rib pressed up against his emaciated flesh.

Somewhere in the distance he could hear what sounded like iron striking iron, followed by a much louder squeal of rusty hinges. In front of him a blurry image of a furred creature appeared, which dropped a flat metal tin. It landed without bouncing or clattering, and the figure then turned and disappeared. On the tin was very appealing food: A shank of some animal that was freshly roasted, fruit, roasted vegetables and a bowl of water.

Unable to rise, Spyro crawled over to the plate, excruciating hunger and willpower pushing him forward. Reaching his maw he could smell the delicious flavors and eagerly snapped the meat up into his mouth.

Chewing, he tasted the flavors, swearing to himself that it was the best thing he had ever tasted. He began to swallow, only to taste a foul grittiness as it was about to go down. Gagging and coughing, he spit up a slimy ball of grey onto the floor, followed by a puff of dust from his mouth. After a fit of coughing, he looked at the plate of food. It had turned into a pile of white ash.

The purple dragon returned to his resting position, drifting back into a fitful sleep.

A jarring but familiar voice woke him only a moment later, his eyelids jumping open. "So what do you suppose it all means, then?"

His vision was filled with a bright white that stung for a moment, and he could only make out a large purple blur.

"Haven't seen you in a while," Spyro spoke up, attempting to stand. He found to his immediate liking that his body had returned to its normal, well-toned and physically fit self. Spyro stretched his muscles, even though he had no feeling whatsoever in them.

The other spoke as he stretched, "You know the Ancestors. They want my successor to grow in his own way. They go on about it for years it seems… or is it minutes? Hard to tell in my state."

After a pause, the dragon continued. "You didn't answer my question."

Spyro turned slowly, tail dragging. "I stopped caring about my dreams a long time ago," he said to Malefor.

The older dragon retorted in his deep voice, "You cared at one point."

Spyro's vision flashed to the balcony… "That was a before a long time ago."

Malefor shook his large horned head. "A dragon of your age does not yet know the meaning of a long time ago. You are young Spyro don't forget that life is supposed to be lived."

Spyro snorted, "All this coming from the dead one. I'll be fine."

"If you say so," Malefor nodded, his body fading, as if looking through a thick fog. "My power fades back into the world."

"Goodbye then." Spyro said into the rapidly disappearing dragon. In the tinge of Malefor's eyes, he thought he could see a faint glimmer.

"I'll give your regards to your mother…" Then the voice faded away on the wisps of a breeze.

*.*.*

Spyro walked to the dying embers of last night's fire. Placing a large paw upon them he ground them into the dirt. Afterwards he walked over to the cheetah who was preparing his pack for another day's travel. Digging into his satchel, Spyro retrieved a scroll.

"Here," the disguised dragon said, dropping it into his lap.

"What's this?" Hunter said, about to open it. A piece of purple cloth held it sealed.

"Not for your eyes," Spyro said, flicking Hunter's paw away with a claw. "Your job is to see that it reaches its proper owner inside Warfang."

"I'm not bringing anything inside that city from you, unless I know exactly what it is," Hunter answered defiantly.

Spyro sighed. "It is nothing but a simple encoded message, orders actually."

Hunter looked over the paper once more, wondering, "Orders? For who?"

"You'll find out as soon as you take them to the Council meeting that's being held today." Blaze unfolded his wings, nearly reaching from tree to tree in the small grotto they had camped in. "You'll be escorted from there."

"Then what?" Hunter asked, fingering the tip of his bow.

"My operative will decide from there. I trust him because of his long service, something you cannot currently boast."

Hunter let go of his bow. He stood, throwing the note into his quiver along with his arrows. "If want me to be an errand boy to earn your trust, very well. What will you be doing?"

"Waiting here, relaxing. I don't get much of it," Spyro laughed deeply.

Hunter watched as the dragon lay down, then rolled to his side and began to breathe deeply, feigning sleep. He threw the cloak's cowl over his head and walked past the red scaled dragon out of the grotto.

After cutting through a few farms and the occasional stream he could hear the squeaking of axles and wheels of wooden carts. Voices of the many peoples began to drift in and out among the many other sounds.

Hunter reached the edge of the tree line that he supposed was growing next to the road. Climbing one of the oaks he looked down upon the hustle and bustle that was the main thoroughfare in and out of the city. He skillfully moved out onto a limb that hung over the lane beneath him. Dragons and moles pushed and pulled their carts of produce and many other goods from the outlying towns, hamlets and farms, unaware of his presence.

The cheetah tightened the cloak around himself. Looking for an area where no one seemed to be paying attention, he dropped from the tree. He landed on two paws and began walking casually, pulling the cowl from his head after a few steps. No one seemed to have noticed his sudden appearance.

Soon the trees and undergrowth gave way to the plains that surrounded the city.

He passed a grown earth dragon pulling a cart, a small earth dragon resting on his head. "Welcome to the Spine son…" His voice trailed off as Hunter moved out of earshot.

Hunter never understood the dragon's habit of naming roads… Officially outside of Warfang it had no name, but to everyone it was forever known as the Spine. Hunter remembered overhearing several Guard members talking after the battle. It was the last link out of Warfang cut by the dark army, and the dragons had turned it into a costly bloodbath for Malefor's approaching forces.

In the distance the higher levels of the dragon city came into view, white stone glinting in the morning sun. Dew on the grass glinted as well, making the illusion that each blade of grass was covered in drops of silver, except on three lone hills where the sun had burned it off.

Two of them stood the height of several full grown dragons, their gentle slopes covered in white wild flowers. Small pathways led from both sides of the Spine, one to each hill, each winged by more flowers. At the end a torch of fire stood burning on a stone pedestal. Two dragon guards stood in the sunlight on either side of each torch. Their full ceremonial armor glinted and twinkled in the morning sun.

The third hill, much smaller than the other two, sat next to the right hand mound. Here another torch burned. However, in the center there were five upright stones instead of a pedestal, and one more guard stood vigil. A few bundled flowers lay in front of the path. Reds, yellows, blues, and white filled the little bouquets.

The hooded Cheetah passed the paths that led to the memorials. The main gates of the city emerged from the band of white that was Warfang's outer wall. Hunter passed into the shadow of the ramparts cast by the higher levels, the citadel's high towers silhouetted against the sun. The din of the city's residents and markets overcame his ears momentarily, his being used to the subtlety of the natural forest, but they adjusted quickly enough.

The main gate stood wide open with no guard. Mole and dragon alike passed through unquestioned. The golden dragons that formed the magical lock were separated by the outflow and inflow of the city.

Moving forward past a few of the poorer merchants hocking their wares from wooden stalls, Hunter began his ascent to the citadel set upon the hill in the center of Warfang.

He came to a large roundabout somewhere in the city, around halfway up the hill. The thriving city's inhabitants walked, talked, bought, sold and lived just like anywhere else in the city. In the center of the roundabout was a large statue. Cynder's likeness stood tall and proud on a pedestal, wings out as if blessing all who walked by her. Gold and silver were ornately inlaid into her wings, which shimmered and sparkled. Her cast silver horns shone brilliantly in the morning sun.

Behind her sat an empty pedestal, only the minute bits of stockier paws and bits of dragon legs remaining. Here and there one could see small bits of fractured stone sitting on the pedestal that no one had ever bothered to clean up.

Hunter, looking towards the hill that was the citadel, judged he was about halfway to the peak. It was hard to imagine that even after the citadel, there was another half of the city to traverse. And it had already taken a good portion of the morning to achieve his current progress.

Pushing forward he passed several more squares, not all having statues of what was once the pair of so called saviors, but those that did were reduced to a single savior.

Hunter recalled returning to the city after the volcano's detonation, and the announcement of had happened by the Guardians and the Council. Riots broke out across the city. Huge mobs of angry dragons and moles alike went through the city ripping and destroying every instance of the purple dragon's face and body they could find. Artists burned paintings and poems of him in the streets, and earth dragons ground any statue they could find into dust to be blown away by the wind.

Reaching the top of the citadel, Hunter came to a gate standing tall,nthis one guarded heavily. A pair of moles stood on either side of the gate, each paired with a dragon guard next to them.

Hunter pulled back his cloak. Stepping up, one mole lowered his pike to block him. Hunter cocked an eyebrow in surprise at the little mole. One of the dragon guards gave the mole a little nod, and he lifted his pike up from the door. Hunter then proceeded through the thick iron doors, these bearing no intricacies like the main gates' show of glamor.

The gleaming white pathway led forward to a large building, flanked on each side by a row of meticulously trimmed trees with white blossoms in their branches. One of the building's towers was clearly newer, the stones not having been weathered and still bearing their new sheen.

The courtyard had many large buildings, most of which Hunter did not know their purpose. His tail twitched at the idea of bureaucrats filling every crevice within them.

Another iron door was the entrance of the main building at the end of the courtyard. Two more dragon guards stood here at attention, and the door itself had the symbol of the Guardians: A circle of silver divided into quadrants, the symbol of an element depicted in gold in each one. Fire was set in the northwest, ice opposing it, earth in the northeast and electricity opposite that.

One of the guards opened the right hand door as Hunter approached, splitting earth and ice away. Inside he was presented with a large pair of pearly white stairs. At their sides a few stairs descended into more hallways that stretched back. A few moles and dragons shuffled back and forth within, opening, entering, closing and leaving old creaky wooden doors, all busy with mindless clerical work.

Hunter climbed the steep stairs leading higher. He reached a large set of yellow tinted windows, shadows flickering behind them as people moved about. The cheetah took a right hand turn and followed the curving staircase. After ascending a few more steps, he turned left into a small archway that opened to a large atrium containing a familiar booming voice.

"This is indeed a bright moment for our proud city, and this concludes our monthly meeting."

Fervent applause greeted Hunter as he stopped at the end of the archway leaning against the cold stone wall. Within moments of the applause ending all the beings within poured out of the bleachers above his archway and that circled halfway around the room. Soon the room was nearly filled with moles and dragons alike milling about, discussing and passing formal documents.

Hunter stood staring into the pack, scanning for who could possibly be the contact, but the room was filled with what looked like at least a hundred dragons and moles. He reached into his quiver and pulled free the scroll with its purple wrapping. Pulling his tail close so it wouldn't be stepped on, the lone cheetah waded out into the crowd and he began to calmly walk around in a circle around the room. The aides of the important politicians carried various scrolls much like his, except they were adorned by only red, green, gold or light blue wrapping.

After a few minutes and several trips around the room he began to feel his temper rising… Walking around like bloody lost fool. The crowd began to thin out as dragons and moles gradually left the chamber, having fulfilled their business.

Hunter felt like ripping the note in half or throwing it into a brazier to burn, but a shove to the back of his leg woke him from his daydreams.

"Make for the exit. Don't look back," said a high pitched voice, followed by gentle shove to the back of his leg.

Hunter did as he was told, walking as nonchalantly as possible back into the archway that he had originally come from and sticking the note into his quiver for safe keeping. Taking a step to the side he pulled his cloak over his head and leaned against the wall, waiting. A fluctuating crowd of dragons and moles was still at the foot of the stairs, discussing many things, but Hunter did not care to listen to any of it.

A few moments later a mole stepped out from the archway. Mason waved his hand over his shoulder, motioning for Hunter to follow without a word. The mole was in relaxed attire for his position, only wearing a pair of red dress pants and a white blouse. Walking down the steps he followed the mole past the group of jabbering dragons and into one of the hallways. They passed numerous office doors as they walked. The sound of shuffling papers filled the entire hallway.

"General Mason, sir, I have those requisition orders you requested," an unknown mole called out from an office they had just passed.

"Later, Alexander. I am not to be disturbed at the moment," Mason replied sharply.

The cheetah and mole reached the end of the hallway and were met with a solid oak door. Mason produced a small key from inside his garments. Placing it in the keyhole he turned it with an audible click and the door creaked open.

Mason gestured for Hunter to enter. "Please."

Hunter walked into the moderately sized room, closely followed by the mole. The sharp click of the lock was heard as Mason secured the door and returned the key to its place.

The room was mostly taken up by a long wooden table and another oak door on the right hand wall. The table was exceedingly dusty, and a few yellowed papers sat atop it. The left hand wall was completely taken up by a map and chalkboard. A few small windows provided natural light on back wall.

"To my study please. More secure…" The little mole trailed off as he trotted to the aforementioned door. He opened it in invitation and Hunter entered again.

This room was far more homely, with a few bookshelves and a soot filled fireplace. A large desk held quills, letters, notes, and the occasional memento. Mason took a seat in an overly large chair that looked exceedingly comfortable. He shoved a few papers to the side, clearing a spot on his desk.

"I'm surprised to know you are part of the organization, Hunter my friend." The mole tapped one of his tiny fingers on the desk. "The scroll if you will."

"Uhh… Thanks." Hunter took the paper from among his arrows and handed it over the desk, careful not to knock something over.

"Going to be a bit my friend. Have a seat," Mason said as he quickly slid the purple cloth off the roll and unrolled the paper on his desk. Reaching over, he dipped a quill in ink. After a few seconds he scratched one rune, then stopped. A few seconds later another scratch, and then another.

Hunter took the moment to reflect… only to have many questions pop into his head. "How big is the organization?" he asked.

"If you are asking questions you must be relatively new then," the mole chuckled.

"One could say that…" Hunter replied in all seriousness.

"Forgive me for being rude, but it's not done here. I don't know what you know, and you don't know what I know. Keeps everyone safer that way." The mole scratched a few more runes down and frowned. He went back over the line he had just done, then continued.

"From the looks of the note you've been in contact with our...ahem," he coughed, "head of office?"

"Yes," Hunter replied.

Mason flicked the quill at Hunter. "Stick with him. He'll keep you alive in the thick of it…"

"Thanks, I think." The cheetah curled and uncurled his tail, pondering.

Mason finished another line of the message. "Oh, and uh, don't get in his way either." Then he continued on with the next line.

One of Hunter's furred ears twitched. Every answer he received just gave him more questions.

Mason scribbled down the last line. Reaching into his desk, he grabbed another piece of parchment. Dipping the quill, he scribbled a few lines, signed, rolled, and sealed the parchment with the same purple cloth.

Handing it to Hunter, he said, "Go without doubts, my friend. All will revealed in due time, but be careful. The enemy is hidden, but very real."

*.*.*

The sun was setting by the time Hunter had returned to the glade outside the walls. There Blaze sat, seemingly unmoved from the same spot the bowman had left him in. Butterflies danced in the last rays of the sun, and may forest creatures fiddled about at peace with the large dragon among them.

Blaze's eyelids opened with a deep breath, only as Hunter extended a hand with the return message. "Thank you, Hunter."

Even though the disguised Spyro had seemed perfectly at rest, his scales had lost some of their sheen and his voice was haggard, as if he had just finished some great exercise.

"Tomorrow we'll be at the White Isles. Rest. You will need your strength for the crossing."

**Thanks to DragonMaster000 for his continued beta and support. I'm thinking about commissioning some more artwork on DA for this story. Is there anything that needs clarification? Or would just look super cool? Leave your suggestions inside a review, thanks. **


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